I Don't Need a Friend
by whitetiger91
Summary: Parties were supposed to be enjoyable, were they not? So why was someone pestering him by trying to be his friend? Waldo didn't need friends, and his pride certainly would not let him make that mistake again.


**I Don't Need a Friend**

 _ **A/N: This fic was originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 10. For this round, we were required to write about a minor character assigned to us. As Beater 1 for Falmouth, I was assigned to the Bloody Baron.**_

 ** _Optional prompts:_**

 _ **(word) confined**_

 _ **(word) history**_

 _ **(quote) 'Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.' - Emily Bronte [used as a theme in the story, i.e. the Bloody Baron is too proud to make another friend and get hurt]**_

 _ **Word count: 2986**_

 ** _Unfortunately, I really cannot decide between this fic and another I have written about the Baron looking for Ravenclaw's Diadem. Whilst I wait for both to be looked at by teammates, I thought I'd post them, pre-beta'd, to see what everyone else thinks. I sort of wanted to stray as much as possible from the whole Helena/Waldo relationship (Waldo apparently being the name of the Baron in the Welsh versions of the books) for originality purposes... but it was hard, for ever since I had their sad tale, I imagine the Baron will never be able to let go of her, even if he wanted to. Nevertheless, I present this to you, and hope it's somewhat decent :)_**

 ** _This fic is dedicated to the lovely (Cara) Lenore483, for being an amazing teammate and friend &hearts_**

* * *

 _ **October 31, 1897**_

Waldo sat picking at the rotten fish on the silver platter he held, his appetite long gone. It wasn't that the food was particularly bad; on the contrary, he was pleased that the food served was more rancid than usual, allowing him to taste some of it. It was more that he detested the fact that he was confined in a small dungeon room full of people—or rather, ghosts—celebrating such a silly, sentimental occasion. Death was nothing to be proud of.

Nevertheless, he had nowhere else to go on this dreary night. At least here he could listen to the soothing tune of the musical saw and momentarily forget his worries.

"Oh ho ho, you must be the infamous Bloody Baron!"

Waldo looked up to find a man grinning down at him; or rather, a man's head cradled in an arm. His body was sitting astride a tall horse, the flaring of its nostrils causing a few pieces of fish to slide across his plate.

"Oh my, where are my manners? The name's Patrick Delaney-Podmore," the man said, placing his head back upon his shoulders and sticking out a hand.

Waldo sniffed and locked his gaze on the man's silvery-blue eyes, causing Patrick to withdraw his hand. The man's smile didn't falter, however, and he hopped down from his horse, taking a seat next to him.

"So, you're here to celebrate Nicholas' four hundred and fifth Deathday, I presume? What do you think of the decorations? A bit bland and dreary if you ask me!" Patrick said.

Waldo followed his gaze, taking in the black drapes and eerie blue lights. "They're fine."

"Oh? Well, they probably are. Say, have you tried the haggis? Tastes delightful, if you get past the maggots!" Patrick said, slapping his knee as though he had just told some hilarious joke.

Shuffling over a little, Waldo tried to tune the man out as he continued to chatter on about the party, head in danger of falling off again.

Patrick's intentions were more transparent than his luminous skin—he was trying to make a friend out of him, probably having noticed he was sitting alone. Well, Patrick could try all he liked; Waldo had only ever had one friend, and his pride would not allow him to make that mistake again.

* * *

 _ **September 1, 995**_

Waldo gazed around the Great Hall, not sure what to focus on. The stone walls stretched up high above him, culminating in a ceiling lit with a million stars. The floor beneath his feet was made from a highly polished marble, supporting several long wooden tables scattered around the room. It was nothing compared to his own home and he could not wait to explore the rest of the castle.

"Stop gaping," his father said, rapping the back of his leg with a cane. "Go mingle with your fellow students."

Closing his mouth, Waldo nodded and moved around the hall.

The other children milling about seemed to have found their own little groups already. The students Lord Gryffindor had taken under his wing were yapping away with food in their mouths as though they had never had a lesson in manners in their life. The students of Lady Ravenclaw had disappeared as soon as the second meal had been served, and the Hufflepuff group sat huddled together, talking with their parents. Waldo thought he ought to introduce himself to his own housemates. However, Lord Slytherin had only taken two others—one pale looking boy with dark hair and flashing blue eyes, and a girl of about twelve or thirteen years, with long, fair hair—both of whom sat together whispering with their heads together.

Waldo gulped, feeling his father's eyes on his back. If he didn't mingle now, he was sure to receive a private hiding when bidding farewell to his father later on in the evening. Scanning the room, he finally settled for a pair of Lady Hufflepuff's new students and strode towards them, chin held up.

"Baron Waldo Grimshaw the Third, pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, thrusting out his hand.

One of the boys looked at his hand, cheeks growing red. He quickly took it in his, stammering, "Col-Cole S-Smith," before letting go. Waldo tried not to grimace at the way the boy's hand was sweaty, turning instead to the other boy with messy brown hair falling into his eyes.

"And you are?"

"Alexander Beaton the First," the brunet said, grinning. "Are you really a Baron?"

Waldo stared at him, taken aback. He wasn't sure whether he should be flattered that the boy was so impressed by his title, or disgusted that the boy hadn't heard of him before now. His father was a prominent man from their town, known to many wizards for his accomplishments in alchemy.

"I am… Well, I will inherit my father's title one day."

"Marry!"

Waldo waited for the boy to say something else, to break the silence, not sure what to say himself. The truth was, until this moment, Waldo had only ever conversed with his father's acquaintances.

He could still feel his father's eyes on him, burning a hole into the back of his head, and shifted on the spot. Hogwarts was his chance to greaten himself, his father said, and to do that, he needed to expand his contacts.

"W-would you like to s-sit down?" the other boy asked, gesturing to the seat beside him with a shaking hand.

Waldo hesitated. The boy wasn't from a family like his, but it was as good a place to start, wasn't it?

"I don't think he would do you?"

All three turned to the owner of the silky voice, not having realised the boy had slipped up. Waldo was surprised to see the dark-haired boy from earlier who had been sorted into Slytherin. He was taller than Waldo had first thought, towering down on the two boys, his face twisted into a sneer.

"Erm," Smith said, looking from Waldo to the boy. "I suppose he might…"

"Ha! Sit with the likes of you? I doubt it. Come, Waldo, sit with me."

The dark-haired boy draped an arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the table. He raised an eyebrow at the boy's use of his name but found he wasn't surprised in the least by the way he knew it.

"I do apologise, but who are—"

"Augustus Slytherin. Nephew of the Great Salazar himself," the boy said, smirking. "'Course, not many people would know, my uncle being too busy to acknowledge my father and me."

Waldo glanced at him, embarrassed that he had not already known this.

"You can thank me later."

Waldo blinked. "Thank you? For what?"

Instead of answering, Augustus nodded towards his uncle and Waldo's father. Both men were surveying them, and Augustus bobbed his head in their direction. "I don't know about you, but if my father caught me speaking to a Mudblood, I wouldn't be able to sit for weeks."

Waldo looked back at the boy, horror washing through him at the realisation that Augustus was right. At least one—if not both—of those boys was a Muggleborn, and would explain why the Smith boy had not known who he was.

Turning to Augustus, Waldo smiled. The boy had saved him, and now he was certain he had made an acquaintance, possibly even a friend.

* * *

 _ **April 30, 1001**_

"Add in another slice of Asphodel."

"Are you sure?" Waldo asked, looking at the bubbling liquid in their cauldron. It was already a lime green colour and if his calculations were correct, the potion needed to be a light lavender.

"No, but if we mess this up, we can just blame it on the Puffs, can't we?" Augustus said.

Waldo shrugged. Using a small knife to cut the plant stem, he leant over and tossed it into the pot. Instantly, their brew began to smoke, a strange blue mist circling around the surface. Coughing and eyes watering, Waldo lifted his sleeve over his mouth to block out the fumes.

"Don't worry, I can probably fix it," Augustus said.

"Dammit! Augustus!" Waldo looked at the table, trying to think of what could save their potion. His eyes landed on a phial of Bobotuber Pus and, uncapping the stopper, poured it in. The potion bubbled and fizzed before the smoke finally began to fade.

"Just a touch of Billywig Sting and… presto! We have success!" With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Augustus leant over and stirred the pot. "Another potion well done," he said.

Despite his initial fear that they had failed, Waldo returned his friend's smile.

Over the years, it seemed only he and Augustus were able to brew potions with success, much to the chagrin of their peers. One day, their school accomplishments would lead to great wealth and fame, Waldo was sure, and he looked forward to success gained without any help from his father.

"Excellent, Walden!" Lord Slytherin shouted, slipping behind their chairs. "Keep this up, boy, and I dare say you will make the history books with your talent!"

Waldo sent a brief smile to his teacher, whose steely grey eyes were now on Augustus. Instead of bestowing the same praise on his nephew, however, the man sniffed and continued walking around the dungeon.

"If only I had as much success in the affairs of the heart," Waldo said, nudging Augustus, hoping to distract from his success.

His friend shook his head and placed a small smile on his face, hiding the scowl that had been on it. The smile didn't quite meet his eyes, however, and Waldo continued, "The fair Helena seems to reject my advances more than any other man's."

"If I were you, I'd tell her what for."

"I try and try again to gain her affection, but she will not have me."

"There's probably other girls out there for you," Augustus said, shrugging. "She's just a girl."

Instead of cheering his friend up, Augustus was becoming more gloomy, the smile fading. It irked Waldo that he wasn't at least trying to cheer up himself, and he gritted his teeth.

"She should at least acknowledge my presence," he said.

Looking over to where Helena sat with another student of Lady Ravenclaw, he picked up the knife lying on the table. The girl was completely oblivious to his presence, and as he watched her laugh with her male companion, the more it seemed to make his blood boil.

He hadn't realised that he had lost focus on cheering up his friend, and now the remaining Asphodel on their table were cut into a hundred tiny, jagged pieces. They would not be able to create the next potion now. Releasing the knife, he scraped his chair back and stared at Augustus.

The smile was back on his friend's face as he stared at the crushed ingredients, this time reaching his eyes. Holding his hands up, Augustus said, "No, I don't think you do have much success. Tell you what, I'll talk to her for you if you'd like?"

Waldo felt his anger dissipated and nodded, happy he had a friend to help him.

* * *

 _ **October 31, 1897**_

"Care to join me for a game of Head Hockey?"

Waldo shook his head, surprised the ghost was still there. Patrick was looking at him expectantly, awaiting his answer. He wished the man would just give up on trying to make him his friend.

Looking into his face, however, Waldo found he couldn't tell him to leave. The man's eyes held no glint of deception, no trace of jealousy.

Perchance he did intend for him to have some fun, it wouldn't kill him, would it? After all, he was already dead.

Fortunately, the man's head rolled to the side, breaking their gaze and allowing Waldo to look away. No, he couldn't pretend to be friends; Patrick Delaney-Podmore might've genuinely wanted to be friends, but his pride wouldn't allow him to fall into that trap again. Not everyone wanted the best for him.

* * *

 _ **May 12, 1002**_

"Augustus, what charm did you come up with for levitation?"

"Ha! I thought you would know that, considering you're 'oh-so-great'. I'm sure my uncle won't mind if you don't answer."

Waldo looked across at Augustus, whose brow was furrowed. His friend had become snappier of late, his tongue becoming sharper the more his uncle failed to praise him and instead bestowed that honour upon Waldo. Waldo didn't blame him, however, for he knew every wizard with half a brain would want to better himself, and doing that often required the attention of a teacher. In fact, Waldo wouldn't have been friends with Augustus if he didn't have that ambition to be the best.

It wasn't Augustus' fault, either, that Waldo could not concentrate on the task at hand. His mind was whirring from the events of late, his heart torn between doing what he thought was right and what he knew was wrong. Sighing, he placed his quill against the parchment, determined to finish his work.

Augustus echoed his sigh, slamming the tome on his desk shut. "If you are going to continue to make such a ruckus, you may as well tell me what is wrong," he said.

Waldo opened his mouth to tell him all was well, but one look at the fierce glare on Augustus' face and his mind was changed. The truth was, the secret he held was becoming a burden, and he needed to share it with someone. If there was one person in the entire castle he could trust, it was Augustus.

"I have been given a rather… difficult… task and I am not sure whether or not I should complete it," he said, taking a deep breath.

Augustus' frown deepened. "Will it be beneficial for you?"

"My father thinks so," he answered. Seeing the confused look on Augustus' face, he continued, "He thinks it will put me in good favour with Lady Ravenclaw."

"Oh? Did Lady Ravenclaw put you up to this task?"

"A personal request."

"I see." Waldo thought he saw a shadow flit across Augustus' face. It was gone just as quickly, however, and he decided it must have been a trick of the light.

Nodding, he took another breath and continued, "She, along with your uncle, requested that I bring back Lady Helena. I fear the rumours about her disappearance are true; she did run away."

Looking down at his robes, Waldo began to pick at a loose thread. When he had learned that his precious Helena had left the school grounds, without even so much as a goodbye, let alone an explanation, he felt his heart had been stabbed. More so, it infuriated him to think that she had not even bothered to think of his needs first. She knew he loved her, why couldn't she have the decency to clue him in? Yanking at the thread, Waldo tried to calm himself.

"I also fear she will reject me if I do find her; that she will refuse to come back with me. I do not know if I will be able to handle that failure," he finished, breathing out through gritted teeth.

Augustus nodded, his eyes on Waldo's white knuckles. His eyes were glinting, however, and he smiled at him. "My friend, I have spoken with Lady Helena. I can honestly tell you she does return your affections. I say follow her, take her back here, and if she does give you any trouble, put her in her place. Think of the glory that will be bestowed upon you by my uncle… Bring her back at all costs. Besides, she owes it to you to return, given all the heartache she has given you."

Waldo began to rip at the thread, tugging on it. Lady Helena sure had a funny way of showing her love for him. He had spent many a night tearing himself apart because of her, wondering if he was as good enough for her.

"You think so? What if I lose my temper? You know I can't stand arrogance."

"You won't. Don't worry, I am sure you will do well," Augustus said, still looking at the way Waldo was ripping out the threads.

Waldo released them and smiled at Augustus. Yes, his friend was right; it was in his best interests to bring Helena back, and he was glad his friend was there to look out for him.

* * *

 _ **October 31, 1987**_

Oh yes, Waldo had indeed succeeded in bringing Lady Helena back to Hogwarts, albeit as a ghost. It had taken him a while to realise that by going on such a foolish mission, especially with his temper, Augustus had managed to get the praise from his uncle that he so desperately sought. Even if Augustus could not have predicted exactly what had happened, his friend knew of his temper and had relied on it to get him out of the way.

Waldo looked past Patrick, who was still busy trying to reattach his head. His eyes travelled to Helena, moving down to where her wound was. Helena had never loved him as Augustus had said and now she never would. Like many a time, his heart—or so he thought, the wretched thing no longer able to beat—ached, the betrayal of Augustus almost too much to bare.

Patrick finally managed to reattach his head and, upon straightening it, resumed staring at him. "Well, do you care for a game?"

Placing his plate on the table, the food still uneaten, he stood up. Patrick beamed at him, motioning with his hand to follow him.

Dipping his head, Waldo glided past him. "If you'll excuse me, I might go for a stroll instead… by myself," he said. Then, ignoring the bewildered expression on the man's face and leaving behind the sorrowful music, he forced himself through the nearest wall.

No, he was too proud to make another friend, and he would most certainly not allow himself to be betrayed again.


End file.
